


Re-Assignment

by disdonc (orphan_account)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/disdonc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slice of life piece about Melinda adjusting to life as a desk-jockey at SHIELD, presumably sometime after the Bahrain incident. Not surprisingly, it isn't an entirely smooth transition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Re-Assignment

1.

"Good. Now fall. Just let yourself fall backwards into your partner’s arms... This is where you're supposed to fall, Melinda."

Melinda's stance did not change, although her frown deepened. She stayed erect, arms folded, in the centre of a circle of her still newish coworkers.

"This is meant to be a trust exercise," Cathy said, a note of exasperation in her voice. Melinda had been standing there for quite a while. Cathy worked in the cubicle next to Melinda's and was the designated Trust Leader for the morning.  "Trust is a capacity we all need to work on. It's like anything else that requires practice." She glanced down at the pamphlet the script for the exercise was presumably printed on. "There's nothing to be scared of, Melinda."

Melinda wasn't scared, and she had certainly been in situations where she had to trust her life to her partners. That was the field. What she didn't have even an inkling of trust in was in Martin's reaction time. Martin delivered the mail on their floor and she had never seen a human being who moved as slow as he did. The times she got stuck behind his cart as he did his rounds were like some kind of torture technique. She was half-convinced SHIELD was testing some sort of incapacitation weapon on him. Like reverse Super-Soldier Serum or some sort of slow-release sedative.

She continued to stand and cast her eyes over her coworkers. They had been allowed to dress in jeans for their department's Vision and Mission Workshop and it was a little strange seeing them outside of business casual.

"Look, we don't get to go for lunch until we've all completed the trust exercise. Come on!"

It sounded like Stephen.  Melinda sighed, rolled her eyes, and threw her weight backwards. Her back remained straight and her arms remained crossed in front of her as she fell.

2.

She bumped into Coulson after lunch as she walked through the complex housing SHIELD's New York Headquarters. 

His nose was buried in a file and almost didn't see her. Melinda stopped walking so that they didn't collide and Phil glanced up at the last minute.

"Melinda! Nice to see you at the big house again!"

"Phil," she said by way of greeting. "I'm just here for some stupid team building exercise."

"You know, if you're not enjoying your new position I could see you transferred back--"

Melinda raised an eyebrow.

"All I'm saying is that I miss seeing you around the office. If the position I found for you is too dull, I get it."

"No, Coulson," then she let her face relax into a smile, "Besides I'm learning about how much paperwork is required to get anything done around this place. It's...humbling in a way."

Phil reached out clasped Melinda's forearm. The last time he'd done that, he'd forgotten about the bandages on her arm. Melinda stifled an urge to flinch.

"I just want to make sure things are okay."

"I'm fine, Phil. And I have to get to our after lunch session."

"Take care of yourself, Melinda."

"You too."

3.

"People think that SHIELD is all about soldiers running around. Explosions. Helicarriers," Directory Nick Fury was pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind his back, trench coat flapping as he moved. Behind him on the video screen was an operations display, a map of Europe with various red and yellow dots. Window dressing, Melinda thought, they wouldn't actually show these people mission details of a live operation. "Cloak and dagger shi-- business. Captain America leaping through the air toward a bunch of bad guys. What everyone forgets is that the L in our name stands for Logistics.  Without that L, we'd be SHIED, and no one wants that." Fury stopped and spun to face the camera. "And Logistics is where you people come in. Do not think for a New York second that we could do what we do without each and every one of you."

Melinda glanced around the room. The rest of her department was watching the screen with rapt attention.  She looked back to the screen and peered at SHIELD's Director.  There is no way in hell Nick Fury would take time out of his schedule to give a rally-the-troops speech to a bunch of low-level SHIELD desk jockeys on a Professional Development day. Maybe if he'd lost a bet to Maria Hill or something. But no, this had to be a Life Model Decoy. Melinda didn't know the Director's body language and mannerisms well enough to judge but there was just no way.

A video began playing, hiding the Director. Or rather, the Life Model Director Decoy that Mel was sure they'd been watching. It was a night time scene, although curiously well lit. The camera view swooped toward what looked like a four story warehouse. When their perspective got close enough, they could make out a silhouette running along the top floor. It would appear in a window, disappear once past and reappear in the next. The figure was sprinting hard. Generic rock music provided a soundtrack. Melinda thought there was something vaguely familiar about the runner. There were suddenly several bright flashes -- gunfire inside the building. The silhouette flinched, stopped in its tracks, then leapt out the window it was standing in front of. Immediately after, the noise of an explosion overwhelmed the rock music as glass, flames and smoke burst through all the windows on the top floor.

Melinda now recognized Clint Barton, who twisted, bow in hand and shot an arrow that impacted the exterior wall. A cable began to play out from the rope. In a moment, Hawkeye had himself under control and was now rappelling gracefully down the building. As his feet touched the ground and spun to toward the camera, which had zoomed into him, and flashed a grin and gave a thumbs up.

The video cut away as Melinda burst out laughing. She would have to grill Coulson later to find out what Barton had done to get punished with having to perform in an internal SHIELD promotional video.

Her coworkers were staring at her again. Melinda cleared her throat but everyone was distracted by Faux Fury returning to the screen.  He hammered a fist into his other hand.

"Now Hawkeye and other agents get the lion's share of the glory. But who was co-ordinating his mission? Who made sure the funding was in place to get intel from our assets? Where did his fancy-assed arrows come from? This is all the L in SHIELD. This is YOU people."

Melinda glanced down at her watch. Apparently on Professional Development Days, they always got early dismissal. It couldn't come early enough.

4.

"So then I said to him, 'No YOU'RE the one who's parked in a handicap spot'. I mean, why can't people just mind their own business?"

Melinda, hearing the voice, snapped the tip of her pencil. Perkins. And he was late back from his coffee break. He was always late back from his coffee break. In the field, you were never late. Late got your team killed.  She frowned, staring at the broken pencil.  They were admin people, she said to herself, go easy on them.  The biggest danger they were going to face in their lives was probably clogged arteries from years of Doughnut Wednesdays.  But still, a little decorum.  They weren't being paid to sit around the cafeteria listening to Perkins talk about the new car he'd bought recently and managed to talk the sales person down by -- and oh god why does she even know any of this?  Come to think of it, though, she didn't know what a lot of them were paid for. She was barely even sure what she was being paid for.  She had a stack of TS-97 forms, each in its own folder.  The TS-97, to the best she could determine, was a requisition to request information from another SHIELD department.  When TS097 forms came across her desk, her job was simply to make sure each page was initialed and included the employee’s social security number written on the top right corner. If they impinged on the date -- if there wasn't an obvious millimetre of whitespace -- between, she was to reject the form and send it back.  Melinda had attempted to read through one once, but had needed nearly nodded off.  On reflection, maybe they used the TS-97 in Interrogation, reading them to suspects until they cracked.

She got her pencil sharpener out of her desk drawer. Seventeen turns of the pencil had it at a perfect point.  She got to fifteen before she heard the footsteps approaching. It was Walter Zaleski.  Melinda had learned the walk of everyone on her floor. It was just an old field habit -- she hadn't even realized she was doing it.  Walter tried to effect a meandering saunter as he passed by cubicles, part of his bid to be the "try to be your buddy" sort of manager. Today, though, he was bit more hurried than usual. He walked past the beige half wall, then turned and leaned his elbows on it. In his right hand, he held a violet-coloured envelope.

Melinda arched an eyebrow by way of greeting.

He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper.

"May, I'm not going to lie -- it bothers me that no one will tell me what exactly you did before transferring over here."

She put the pencil down onto the stack of TS-97s, folded her arms and tilted her head slightly.

"The way I see it," he continued, "You must have fucked up pretty badly to get busted down to here."

Melinda wondered: if she snatched up the pencil again and stabbed Zaleski through his carotid artery, she could make it to the elevator before any shouted for help?

5.

Perkins took a sip of his coffee and immediately spat it out into the sink beside the coffee machine. He brought his Iron Man mug up to his nose and sniffed it warily.

"How could the coffee possibly have gotten worse around here?" Perkins said. He tossed the coffee, cup and all, into the sink. "They don't have to drink this swill at HQ, believe me."

Melinda could have confirmed that, but she said nothing. She was warming her hands on a cup of tea.

Parma from Purchasing didn't glance up from her crossword puzzle. "The Director has urged -- admonished was the word in the directive, actually -- all departments to exercise extra fiscal restraint through the end of this quarter. We lost another helicarrier last week."

Now that caused Melinda to perk up. It was the like the pilots and engineers were forgetting those things were supposed to be flying vehicles lately. "Another one? Where?"

Both of them looked at her, startled. In her first few weeks so far in this department, Melinda hadn't been in the habit of butting into her coworkers' conversations.

"In Argentina. Some idiot decided to try importing dinosaurs from the Savage Lands."

"How could a dinosaur take down a helicarrier? Pterodactyls?" asked Perkins.

"A bunch of the dinosaurs broke out of their cargo containers and began rampaging in Buenos Aires. They sent in the Avengers," Parma wrote another answer on her puzzle before she realized Melina and Perkins were both staring at her, looking for more detail. "The Hulk threw a t-rex and hit the helicarrier that was providing support."

Perkins rolled his eyes. "Every single time the Hulk gets involved with anything, we can bet on weeks of overtime."

6.

Melinda flinched when she heard Martin turn the mail cart and being rolling it down the narrow space between the rows of cubicles. The front, right wheel squeaked when the cart turned. She had been trying -- really trying -- to learn to ignore these things. To tune out the ambient, quotidian and completely pointless sounds that surrounded her each and every moment at work. She didn’t need to evaluate every little fleeting sigh of air; it was, in fact, completely counterproductive when you were concentrating, squinting at a spreadsheet, trying to make sure the numbers matched up. Three days ago, she'd left a can WD-40 on Martin’s desk, but he'd apparently not taken the hint. She'd stay late tonight until most of the rest of them had gone home -- she did most nights anyhow -- and then pick the lock to closet their floor's mail clerk stored the cart and take care of the matter herself.

"Morning, Melinda," he said in a sort of drone and dropped a red folder on her desk. Another red folder. She sighed and Mario pushed the cart on, obvious to her annoyance. She stared at it for moment; Top Secret stamped on the front in large, black letters before snatching it up and stomped toward Walter’s office.

She paused at the threshold of her supervisor's office, rapped on the door frame with her knuckles and then walked in. Walter was writing on a file, scanning it quickly and marking things here and there. He glanced up a Melinda.

"What can help you with, Melinda?"

Melinda waved the red folder at her.

"I said to -- I asked you to stop giving these to me. Or at least not all of them."

Walter frowned.

"I don't see what the problem is."

"The others. Top secret files as a status symbol to them. I'm still new in the department and with you giving all them to me...well everyone else is noticing."

She didn't add that she took this job mostly so that she wouldn't be noticed.

"You have the highest security clearance of anyone in this department. High enough," Walter’s frown turned into something of glare, "that I am apparently not even allowed to know just what your clearance is. Who else would I give them too? Your mysterious security clearance makes you the most...trustworthy person around."

Walter turned his eyes back to her file and began aggressively marking once more.

Melinda exhaled, entertained a brief but very violent fantasy, and walked back to her cubicle. At least five of her coworkers saw her leave Walter’s office carrying a red folder. She sat back down and slapped open the folder.

 Expense claim purchase order #17237. In situ damage to personal items. One full length, leather duster. Stabbing damage from unsuccessful assassination attempt. $750. SHIELD Director Nicholas Fury. May 16th, 201X.

Also attached to the file was a receipt from the restaurant where the assassination attempt took place.

Expense claim purchase order #17419. In situ damage to personal items. One full length, leather duster. Acid damage sustained while supervising experiment in SHIELD research facility [REDACTED]. $750. SHIELD Director Nicholas Fury. May 19th, 201X.

Expense claim purchase order #18003. In situ damage to personal items. One full length, leather duster. Seven bullet holes sustained during SHIELD mission Operation [REDACTED]. $750. SHIELD Director Nicholas Fury. May 23rd, 201X.

Melinda flipped through the rest of the pages in the file. There were seventeen more pages, mostly claims for leather coats. A note on the file stated that the file had been prepared by Agent Coulson. Melinda yanked open a drawer and grabbed a pad of sticky notes. She scribbled a note onto it. "Advise that the Director perhaps consider taking less expensive outerwear into missions." She slapped the note down into the first page of the file, drummed her fingers for a moment and then threw the note into the recycle bin under her desk.

He shouldn't even be allowed to expense personal items. But who was going to say no to Director Fury?

7.

Melinda walked down the dank hallway toward the stairs that would bring her back to the main floor of the SHIELD admin building.  All SHIELD facilities were mandated to provide workout facilities to staff, ever since one of the assistant deputy directors instituted his "Healthier Staff, Safer World" initiative.  The "gym" was a room in the basement of the admin building. It was a desultory affair -- she had once spent a week in a better furnished, more comfortable prison cell in Tajikistan.  It featured two treadmills and a rack with a random assortment of mismatched dumbbells. One her first day in the new assignment, she'd had to wipe the dust off the treadmills and on her second day of work she'd brought a can of lubricant to reduce the squeaking of their rollers. There was no television; the bare walls were covered with a few motivational posters. Melinda did her runs while staring at a poster of Captain America. Cap was pointing at the onlooker and a voice bubble declared, "Another 10 pushups might make the difference in your next battle with HYDRA".

Most of the rest of the rooms in the basement were storage for box after box of files that had to be stored as per SHIELD's document retention policies. The only occupied room was their IT guy's office.  She almost passed the open door with its emanating electronic music without sparing a glance but something caught her eye. Roy, the on-site IT person had exactly two postures. One was leaning as far back as his chair allowed, feet on his desk, gazing at the ceiling. This was "answering the phone" mode. The other was slouched forward, his head cradled in his right hand, left on the mouse or pecking at the keyboard. This, she presumed, was "work" mode. Today though, Roy was sitting straight and erect. His eyes were wide and there were drops of sweat on her brow.

Melinda paused.

"Hi, Roy," she said.

His eyebrows shot upward and he opened his mouth but couldn't seem to manage to speak. His eyes glanced away from Melinda toward something inside his office, to Melinda's left.

"Well see you later, Roy."

She was twisting to her left as soon as she was through the threshold to Roy’s office. Her left arm shot up to grab the wrist of the gunman standing inside the room, forcing it up so that when he squeezed off a shot it fired into the ceiling. Luckily he had a silencer attached to his weapon. Also lucky that he was alone. He cursed and threw a weak left-handed punch that Melinda simply rolled with while jamming his arm against the wall. Before he could recover his balance, Melinda cracked her elbow against his jaw and followed that up by slamming her palm into the shooter's nose. He slumped to the ground.

Melinda sighed and wiped the blood on her hand off on her workout tights. They were new, too. At least she'd been wearing clothes she could move in and not dress pants and heels. She knelt down to begin searching the unconscious man.

"You. They said you transferred from HR," said a weak voice from behind her.

He had no other weapons but she took his radio and earpiece, wiped the accumulated earwax onto his shirt and stuck it in her own ear.

"I did work in HR, Roy," she said, smirking slightly, "In asset recruitment. Did he say anything to you?"

"There's blood all over his face."

"Roy," she snapped, hoping to make him focus, "Did he say anything to you."

"He...he had me call up the buildings schematic and electrical blueprints. Then he talked to someone over his radio. He said something like, 'Target is in the west area. Through a disused elevator.'"

"A disused elevator?"

"There used to be a freight elevator from when this was a warehouse. A few months ago some engineers declared it inoperable and I guess since we never used it anyway they just decommissioned."

May held up a hand to silence Roy as voices began speaking over the radio.

" _Automatic security systems engaged when we tried to breach the blast doors. We're going to need a torch to cut through them._ "

_"Team two is on its way in."_

“Roy, I need to you to email Agent Coulson at SHIELD HQ and tell him our building is being raided by an unknown number of hostiles. Then I want you to lock your door and stay here.”

Melinda tucked the gun into her waistband and broke into a run. Back down the hall and up the stairs two at a time. She burst into the main floor and came up short. Everything looked perfectly normal. People standing at each other's cubicles talking. Parma trying to align a page at perfect right angles on the photocopier.

The building wasn't being attacked. This was a stealth raid.

She looked around. Three people in coveralls were manhandling a cart with what looked like a coffee machine on it.

"There's no possible way they would replace the coffee machine here," she muttered.

Melinda kicked off her pumps and began to stalk after the four men.

She was halfway across the room when Cathy stepped in front of her. Cathy waved a handful of pages at her.

"Melinda you haven't signed up for the potluck yet."

"The...potluck?"

"The staff potluck next Wednesday. You're coming, right?"

The quickest thing to do would be to just knock Cathy down.

"I...hadn't thought about it."

Cathy glanced at the papers.

"We could still use some desserts. Or how about...mashed...potatoes?"

Melinda's frown had turned into a glare.

Cathy took two steps backward and almost tripped over a garbage can.

"You're so quiet, though. We thought it would be nice to get to know you a bit."

Melinda stomped past her.

"Coleslaw," she said, "I'll bring coleslaw."

She caught up to the men in a corridor. They looked awfully fit for blue-collar types delivering a coffee machine.

"You're going the wrong way if you're looking for the break room, boys."

The one closest to her turned and began reaching to the small of his back. Melinda snapped the edges of her hands into both sides of his neck. He began to slump to the floor and before the others could react. She kicked the cart forward, making the one at the front stagger. Melinda grabbed the cart’s handles and yanked to the right, tilting it so the box hit the third man and knocked him against the wall. She slammed the cart forward again, hitting the one who was beginning to recover his balance. She snapped a kick to the head of the one who’d knocked the box aside and then dove and somersaulted over the cart, using the momentum to kick the last standing hostile with both her feet.

She broke into a sprint toward where this disused elevator was. When she found it, its doors had been pried open. Tattered yellow CAUTION tape still hung. She peered into the shaft and saw lights one story below.

“Where the hell are you guys?” a voice from the bottom of the shaft hissed, a fraction of a second later repeating in her captured radio.

     Two more were at the bottom and their lights were illuminating a heavy steel door. There was a glowing red keypad beside it. They were certainly armed and if Roy had listened to her, SHIELD security forces were on their way. But who knows if there were more hostiles waiting outside the building.

Melinda took a moment to decide which of the two men would better cushion her impact and then leapt into the elevator shaft.

8.

Coulson flipped through the pages of the file. The creases on his forehead were deepening but now and again the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

"This is some fine work, Agent May. I'm afraid you've shocked many of your coworkers. Sick days en masse."

"It's not 'agent' anymore, Phil," she responded, carefully emphasizing each individual word.

Coulson closed the file, leaned back in his chair and templed his fingers.

"Come back to HQ, Melinda."

"You know why I chose this assignment."

"There's plenty of paperwork to do at HQ," he tapped the folder with his index and middle fingers. "And much better security too."

"Phil what was SHIELD doing with a secret code-breaking team in a human resources document processing facility?"

"Security through obscurity? We put it there for the same reason you took the job there. Who was going to go looking for trouble in what is probably quite literally the most boring facility in all of SHIELD?"

Melinda rolled her eyes.

"The coffee. At HQ. How is it these days?"

"Just had a new espresso machine installed in the break room."


End file.
